


Old No.7

by PeachBriseadh



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachBriseadh/pseuds/PeachBriseadh
Summary: Kenny would literally die to be with Stan.Like, actually die. He does it all the time, now all he has to do is romance Stan before Kenny gets kicked out of heavan for good.Sure.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Old No.7

**Author's Note:**

> my first south park fic be gentle  
> this one is based on the song Old Number Seven by The Devil Makes Three
> 
> Enjoy <3

Stan Marsh is an Angel.

Like, literally. 

An honest to god, _no pun intended_ , holier than most, angel.

And today, like always, he’s working at a bar unimaginatively named The Holy Grail. He’s got on a soft grey button up under his usual white apron that compliments the shape of his torso in some distinctly unholy ways. He’s pretty cut for a divine messenger, if you ask Kenny. More like a football player, all arms and shoulders and a mean set of thighs that Kenny would very much like to worship now and again. Black hair, blue eyes, golden halo. Big silky white wings. 

Kenny’s only seen them a few times, since Stan puts them away at work. He misses them constantly.

Stan’s one of those sad eyed American boy types, classically handsome with a heart to gold.

And he’s comfortably sardonic, with a taste of that ingrained kindness most angels have without being chokingly sweet. Kenny has done good to learn Stan Marsh through his sporadic visits to Heaven, collecting all of Marsh’s little angelic details one by one. Like his pension for gloom, or the way he pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s had just about enough. 

It's weird, because Kenny genuinely likes Stan, considers them friends even. Probably, because he’s not a human. 

The dude loves animals, seems to be very protective over a friend of his named Kyle who apparently has shit taste in men (in Stan’s opinion), absolutely despises any and all social media, and seems to actively loathe having anything resembling free time.

Which is unfortunate, since all Kenny has in Heaven is a time _limit_. Seems like his reset happens a lot faster here. Maybe time moves differently. Quicker. Like how Hell’s time seems like half the speed of humanity.

Kenny tries to spend what little of it he has before he’s kicked out or reset by blatantly flirting with the angel of his affections, but Stan just rolls his eyes or huffs a laugh. 

It’s getting to be a real problem.

Ya see, Kenny has imagined fucking Stan more than once since he started his little “accidental” ascension trips up North. He guesses that if someone in management’s got their wires crossed, there are worse places he could end up. 

Like back on Earth.

Not that he’s complaining. 

Not at all, ain’t nothing wrong with just sitting here and watching Stan mix tinctures while Kenny drinks down various unending cocktails. All of which, he might add, are as virginally untouched as the pure mother Marry herself. 

He could do it forever, save for how bad he wants to ride that heavenly vessel into the clouds. It’s driving him crazy, thinking about Stan throughout Kenny’s regular day to day and his oft’ brutal excursions into the afterlife. 

Now, Kenny’d never call himself a competitive man, but he’s never backed down from a challenge either. Stan may end up proving one.

The perfect little martini glass under his finger makes a gorgeous hum when Kenny runs the pad of his pointer around the wet circumference of its lip. He closes his eyes and hums along while Stan cleans glasses across the bar. What he wouldn’t give for just a simple jack and coke, anything with some real heat. Some potency.

Kenny has plans today, of sorts.

Maybe he’ll try to get Stan’s number. 

He knows the angel has a phone, has seen him take it out during breaks and tap away at the screen. Heaven has better coverage than Hell, that’s for damn sure, but not as many apps as the glory that is Earth. Kenny would know, he’s got a phone for all three of his usual haunts and the bills to prove it. Not that he pays one in heaven, they just send a gentle thank you card every month. 

Angels are weird like that.

“So, how’d you get here this time?”

Ah, this same old question. For an angel, Stan has a gruesome interest in the many ways Kenny meets his ends. To be honest, Kenny’s not even sure Stan actually believes him. What does he think Kenny does when he’s not here? Does Stan ever think of Kenny when he’s not sat right across the bar? 

He really fucking would like to find out.

“Oh you know,” he laughs, downing the last swallow of a cocktail that looks suspiciously like condensed moonlight. “Another hideous death by impalement.” 

He doesn’t want to go into the details, being skewered is one of his least favorite ways to eat the dust. Second only to being eaten alive. Good times.

Stan pulls a face somewhere between discomfort and sympathetic, mouth twisting to the side. 

“Not sure I wanna know.” He says, picking up another glass and whipping it down. Not that any of them need the attention. Kenny could think of a couple other things Stan could polish. One in particular.

He flips his glass over, face down on top of the little white napkin Stan had served it on, then leans back in his chair to stretch his legs. “Trust me, dude. You don’t.” 

He hooks the heel of his boot on the lowest rung of the tall chair and slips his hands into his pockets, grinning up at Stan. 

“Though there are less deadly forms of impalement I’d be inclined to try.” He coos, capping his line with a wink. 

Stan’s cheeks go pink despite the flat look he shoots at Kenny. 

“Oh my god, dude. You keep talking like that and they’ll lock the gate next time they kick your sorry ass out, you heathen.” There’s something to love about an angel with a potty mouth. 

Kenny leans forward, resting his chin on his hands, elbows on the bar. 

“You know I love your pet names. But yeah, Doubtful,” he sighs, staring up into the deep cobalt of Stan’s eyes. They kind of tug at Kenny’s heart, heavy with that strange sadness Marsh totes around like a shadow. Kenny wonders where it comes from, then just as quickly decides it isn’t any of his business. 

“You could say the big man owes me one, not that anyone gives two shits if I’m wandering around up here.” Kenny shrugs, because it's true, his presence in either afterplace isn’t exactly a hazard. Not yet anyways. 

“Yeah? Is that why you keep getting kicked out?” God, Kenny is crazy for that look. That shit eating grin that screams _caught you_.

“Touché.” He agrees, because explaining the literal ins and outs of his reset isn’t something Kenny plays at anymore. It gets old, not being believed. 

“It’s good to see you, though, even if you shouldn’t technically be here,” Stan says, as if he’s trying to console Kenny for something he doesn’t care about anymore. “If that’s any kind of consolation prize.” Oh, he is doing that exact thing. That’s awful sweet of him.

The smile that spreads across Kenny’s face in response to that handful of words feels more honest than he’s managed in a long time. What he wouldn’t give to kiss this sweet boy. 

And then some.

Stan turns his back, fingers jumping from one bottle to the next as he decides what he’s going to make next. Kenny never asks, he likes what Stan chooses for him. 

“Stan, I’d say you being happy to see little ol’ me is the biggest prize a man could hope for.” 

With Stan’s back turned to him, Kenny has a perfect view of those wide shoulders. The way the apron strings cinch around his waist. The agonizing distance between his thighs that Kenny wants to start a life in and call home. 

“Oh God,” he says, turning back around to start pouring measurements. “I take it back, please shut up and leave.” 

“Nope, it’s too late. Admit it, Marsh, you like me.” 

Stan just shakes his head, smiling softly down at Kenny who has one brow arched up. Stan once called it his “Machiavellian brow,” since Kenny only does it when he’s being sneaky. Which, fair.

He’d loved to sneak his way into Stan’s heart, and his bed. 

“Why the hell would…” he trails off. Kenny leans in further across the bar, waiting for a punchline. 

It doesn’t land.

“Maybe.” 

The two little syllables catch Kenny by surprise, smashing into his heart from clear out of left field. His grin slopes sideways, blinking stupidly as his cheeks warm up.

“Maybe, huh?” 

Stan’s mouth pulls to the side as he thinks, cheeks rosy to match Kenny’s. He doesn’t look away from his current concoction. 

“Yeah, I kind of do.” He sounds like a fifth grader.

“Kind of enough to give me your number, Marsh?” 

“Eh,” Stan says after a beat, with a very noncommittal shrug.

“Eh?”

“Eh.”

He plucks up the empty upside down glass, replacing it with the now full one. This one shines deep and golden like melted honey, and glimmers in soft spirals like Viniq. Two maraschino cherries drift inside of it, one red, one blue. It’s garnished by a tiny orange umbrella with blue flowers.

The blue is Stan’s dorky signature, always added in some delicious little detail or another. No idea where he gets the blue cherries, though. Must be a Heaven thing.

“A Honey Galaxy,” he explains softly. “It’s supposed to taste like mead.” He stops to let out a sad little laugh. “Not that I have any idea what mead actually tastes like.” 

“I do, you know. Maybe I could show you sometime.”

Stan raises his eyebrows over an indulgent smile. He’s told Kenny stories of wanting to visit Earth, but just never found the right motivation. 

“Yeah, maybe you can.” 

Stan has more patrons than free time after that, and Kenny ends up leaving before he can press Stan for his number again. By leaving, he means plummeting back into his human life. 

He wonders, there in the early morning light of day, what it looks like when he disappears. 

Maybe he poofs away like a cartoon. Or falls through a hole in the floor. Or maybe he’s just _gone_. 

It doesn’t matter, really. What _really_ matters is what he finds two hours later when he decides to get up and do something with himself. The soft bundle in his coat pocket surprises him.

The phone number scrawled in blue on a familiar white napkin surprises him even more. When the hell did he even get a chance to slide it in there? 

Must be some angel voodoo magic.

Hot damn.

They text.

-

Stan 9:37 pm

Kenny you’re drunk

Kenny 9:38 pm

What I’m the hell makes you say that

Stan 9:40 pm

Okay well

I asked you to send me a picture of something delicious at the bar

You kno like a drink 

Kenny 9:43 pm

Yeah and I did 

Stan 9:45 pm

You sent me a picture of your lips dude

Kenny 10:03 pm

Funny how u said lips and not mouth that’s very specific of you Marsh 

Stan 10:08 pm 

Good night Kenny 

-

Kenny 3:26 am

Stan can I come over

Stan 5:30 am

Wtf dude why are you awake?? Also are you okay??

You do remember you would have to die right??

Kenny 5:31 am

That’s a non issue Staniel

I’m like a cockroach remember? Can’t stay dead 

Stan 5:31 am

Kenny I’m worried about you dude are you seriously ok?

Kenny 5:32 am

I’m okay promise forget about it

Just needed some reassurance 

Stan 6:03 am

Sorry I’m getting ready for work but also I don’t believe you

Reassurance for what 

Kenny 6:12 am

That I’m still alive

Or maybe I’m never alive

Stan 6:15 am

Okay that’s not troubling at all man I sure believe you right now 

Kenny 6:20 am

I just want to wake up next to a handsome angel is that too much to ask 

Stan 6:23 am

Not really

Let me know when you find one

Kenny 6:24 am

Go look in a mirror

Stan 6:26 am

You really worked hard for that one

-

Stan 7:19 pm

Kenny i need you dude

Kenny 7:27 pm

It’s about time you realized that 

Stan 7:29 pm

Stfu Kenny I’m serious 

Kenny 7:32 pm

Okay okay lay it in me

On*

Stan 7:35 pm

You’re totally doing that on purpose 

He’s dating him

Kenny 7:39 pm

Uh

Who is what

Stan 7:40 pm

KYLE!! 

He’s dating that fucking asshole Craig!!

Kenny 7:43 pm

Oh the one you hate?

Stan 7:43 pm

THE ONE I HATE

Kenny 7:45 pm

Good for him? 

Stan 8:47 pm

No dude Craig sucks!!

Kenny 8:48 pm

I think we need to have a talk sweetie

Stan 8:51 pm

Oh god no not you too

-

Stan 5:24 pm

I can’t believe you got kicked out again

Kenny 5:30 pm

It’s not my fault nobody there can take a joke

Stan 5:32 pm

Ken i don’t think anybody here counts robbing a celestial convenience store as a joke

Also you dont even pay for shit here??

Kenny 5:33 pm

Yeah you kno how hard i had to work to get them to agree with me that it was a robbery??

Stan 5:34 pm

Ken no

Kenny 5:35 pm

Stan yes

-

And they text, and they text. 

Kenny can’t remember a time he ever used his phone so much. 

It helps him get through the three weeks it takes for him to finally bite the dust and get back to Heaven, this time by way of a stray bullet like a true red blooded American. 

Stan smiles when he sees Kenny, and Kenny smiles when he sees Stan. It’s all pretty gay and romantic.

Kenny loves it.

“Hey, Staniel, lookin’ handsome as usual.” 

“Really, dude? You haven’t even sat down yet.”

“I’m still waiting for you to sweep me off my feet.”

“Good thing you’re immortal, then.” 

“Ouch,” he laughs, hopping up onto the tall chair and making himself comfortable. “Man, I even brought you a present and everything.” 

Stan’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth neutral.

“Yeah? You brought me earthly contraband?” 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Kenny grins, putting his elbow on the bar and dropping his chin into his palm. 

“Bet your sweet ass I did.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, and takes out a small silver flask. 

“It’s no PS5, but it’ll do.” 

Stan watches him place it on the table with a suspicious look on his face. 

“Kenny, what is that?” 

“It’s a present.” 

The look he gets for that one makes his toes curl, all tired and reprimanding. 

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends in what you think it is, I guess.”

Stan looks around, likely keeping an eye out for any of his fellow employees. His eyes jump from Kenny, to the flask. 

“Dude, do you know how much trouble I could get into for this?” 

Kenny’s whole body thrums with excitement, because that definitely wasn’t a ‘no.’

“Not a damn clue, but I guarantee it’ll be worth it.” 

Stan looks down the bar again. Kenny watches the tendons in his neck pull, swooning over the sharp curve of his jaw. He would bet money that Stan looks real good with a little stubble.

“Fuck. Okay.” Stan runs a hand over his mouth, debating while Kenny unscrews the top and sniffs at the contents. It had taken him a couple weeks to find a place that sold it close by, but he stuck it out until he hit pay dirt. “What is it, exactly?”

“It’s mead. Bought just enough for you and I to get a good taste.” Kenny shakes the little container for emphasis, listening to the liquid slosh around inside.

Stan huffs out a heavy breath, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay. I’m the only one here for a few more hours so..” He lifts his head, expression bright and determined. _Fuck yes_. “Yeah, why not. Let’s do it.”

Kenny does a little wiggle on his stool, practically giggling as he points up into the cabinets behind Stan. “Hell yeah, grab two glasses!”

Stan does just that, placing one foggy glass down in front of either of them.

“I knew you were only here to lead me down the path of debauchery.” 

Kenny pours the pretty liquor into the glass, careful to portion it out evenly. 

“Stan, I haven’t even started to defile you yet.” The smile on his face might be a little more devious than he intended, because Stan burns bright fucking red.

“Jesus Christ, Kenny, I was joking.” To his credit, Stan tries really hard to be his sweet, tired self in the face of Kenny’s ‘debauchery.’ 

Flustered looks just as good on him, though.

“I ain’t,” he says with another wink. “Honestly man, I wasn’t even sure I could get in with this on me.”

Stan puts his hands on the bar, elbows locked as he stares down at his glass. He licks his lips. 

So does Kenny. 

“Yeah, well, the more you know,” he mumbles.

Kenny picks up his glass, holding it up for Stan to toast with him. “Bottoms up, big guy.” 

Stan picks up his glasses like it might explode in his hands, bringing it up to gently tap against Kenny’s. 

He looks into the pretty gold mead like he’s second guessing his entire celestial life. His expression morphs into one of fierce determination, and he nods. “Yeah.”

The drink Kenny takes is considerably smaller than Stan’s, who seems to have little regard for taking this slowly, or really just has no fucking clue. He swallows, then lets out a shivering puff of air, no doubt a little overwhelmed.

“Holy shit.” He breathes, putting a hand on his chest. “That’s… that kind of sucked? But like, in a kind of okay way? It’s so warm...” 

Kenny loses it, openly laughing about how god damned cute Stan can be the guys face. How excited he got over his first taste of real alcohol. And it’s not like mead isn’t some heavy shit, but Stan barely bat an eyelash. Angels are just built like tanks in more ways than one apparently.

“That’s about the gist of it, yeah. But mead is real sweet, see? Don’t let it fool ya, most other alcohol isn’t like this.” 

Stan nods along as he sips what little he has left.

“Yeah, I get that. What’s that one you always talk about? The guy's name or whatever.” 

Kenny smiles against his glass. Oh Stan, he thinks, the guy really does listen. Mostly.

“Old number seven, Jack Daniels. It’s a whiskey.”

“Jack Daniels. So what’s it taste like?”

Kenny senses an opportunity. His grin goes sly, eyebrow up. Stan immediately looks as though he regrets asking. 

“How about I show you? Sneak a nice pretty bottle in, or maybe you can come have a drink with me. Ya know, down in the dirt.” 

Whatever Stan was expecting, it wasn’t to be invited to Earth for what could arguably be called a date.

“I don’t know, dude.” 

“What don’t you know? Seriously though, no pressure. I don’t want you doing anything you don’t wanna do, dude.”

Stan rubs a hand across his mouth, putting his nearly empty glass back down.

“A lot, apparently.” He gives Kenny another stern look, this one with a bit of concern. “Look, if you can manage to get a fucking handle of whiskey through the gates, I’m in, but we can’t do it here.”

Oh, fuck yes! He really sincerely hopes he knows where this is going.

“Where do you propose we go then, Stan?” Kenny asks, chin on his folded hands as he blinks coquettishly.

Stan’s head falls back as he pinches his nose for the second time in about ten minutes, groaning. 

“God dammit.”

_Bingo fucking bango._

He looks at Kenny like he’s sick to death of him, but that sweet goofy smile totally gives him away.

“My place?”

-

Kenny 5:32 pm

Stan dude I’m here but the bottle is fucking gone 

Some prick at the gate snatched it through my goddamn coat? Can angels even fucking do that?? What the fuck Stan??

Stan 5:34 pm

Shit ok

Don’t worry just come over I’ll have it by the time you get here

Kenny 5:34 pm

Uh okay 

How??????

Stan 5:35 pm

Just trust me dude

Kenny 5:35 pm

Alright man I’m omw 

-

Somehow Stan manages to filch the booze back from celestial customs. He doesn’t explain how, but he seems both proud and reluctant to talk about it.

After singing Stan’s praises, Kenny decides he doesn’t need to know.

Stan is all too happy to let the subject drop, which only makes Kenny want to bring it back up.

Maybe later.

-

Kenny didn’t grow up in a nice house.

He didn’t have nice _anythings_.

The things he has now, he got on his own, by his own two hands, by his own hard work. More or less. He’s admittedly had to do some pretty sleazy shit for cash. There’s a thousand things inside Kenny McCormick’s head he wishes he ain’t seen, and he’s killed, kissed, or fucked most of them. 

Stan Marsh is as far away from any of that as a boy could possibly get. 

His apartment, _in Heaven_ , is well loved in the best ways imaginable. Lived in. Kenny’s home growing up was cold, unsafe, dangerous. He slept on a mattress in a freezing room, deep inside his winter coat. 

Stan’s home is warm. So warm Kenny has to take his parka off or risk being smothered by the comfortable heat. 

There’s game systems in his living room, controllers left out where the players had recently been. Probably Kyle, or maybe Stan’s other angel buddies. He has those here. Stan has friends. Kenny never had friends.

Kenny has problems. He has a death toll. He has Stan.

He’s not jealous, not really. Kenny never stayed in any one place long enough to make living friends. 

Stan has more coffee mugs than cups, some weird football lamp Kenny loves, and a dog. An old dog with a snaggletooth and a deep, muted bark. Kenny’s never had a dog, but he likes them well enough. Sparky is a pretty good guy. 

Guess all dogs do go to Heaven. 

Stan says he’s part Doberman, part wolf.

Who is Kenny to disagree?

Stan brings out two mugs and sets them down on the counter. There’s a perfect pocket of space beside him that’s looking pretty inviting, so Kenny makes himself at home. His shoulder bumps Stan’s as the angel twists the cap off a bottle of coke. 

“I can’t believe you guys have coke up here.” 

Stan raises one eyebrow as he looks down at Kenny. Stan has an easy 5 inches on Kenny’s average height of 5’ 8” and being this close certainly makes that crystal fucking clear. Being looked down on makes a whole lot of _other ideas_ very clear.

“Yeah? Why’s that? Is it because you don’t think we have everyday human grocery items? You know I eat actual food and stuff, right?”

Kenny chuckles, picking up his assigned Denver Broncos mug and inspecting it’s chipped edges while Stan pours himself half a glass.

“Nah, I just figured you more of a Pepsi people.” 

Stan puts his hand out palm up for Kenny’s mug, looking amused.

“I feel like I should be offended but I sorta feel like there’s nothing wrong with either drink? They’re like, almost the same thing.” 

“Wow, Stan. Never mind, date canceled, I’m taking my booze and leaving.” 

Stan’s expression tilts towards something fond and unsure. 

“You count drinking whiskey and coke in my apartment as a date?”

Kenny pops the mug in Stan’s hand, keeping hold of his end so their palms sandwich the little logo. He lets loose a dazzling grin straight up at Stan’s face with as much charm and dimple as he can muster.

Which, in his humble opinion, is quite a god damn bit.

“I will if you will.” 

Kenny lets go of the mug and turns to get the bottle out of a very nondescript brown paper bag on Stan’s little kitchen table, eyes still on Stan's red face. 

“Do you uh,” Stan starts, as he picks the mugs up and sets them on the table in front of Kenny, glancing between Kenny’s smile and the dark bottle in his hands. He looks as if actually laying eyes on the bottle has made this whole situation very real for him. Kenny intends to make it a good experience, regardless of romantic interests. 

“Do you want it to be?”

Kenny pops the cork out, closing his eyes and letting the smell rise up to his nose. 

“I want a lot of things, dude. But yeah,’ He says with a shrug, turning to look up at Stan. “I do.” 

He wants to add reassurances, to coddle Stan along. But the guy is a grown man and Kenny has led this flirting adventure long enough. It’s time for Stan to step up or give him a hard pass. 

“Cool,” he says, smiling. “Yeah, okay. We can call it that.” 

Kenny tosses the cork up into the air, watching it rise and fall back onto his palm. “Fucking awesome,” he says, feeling like his cheeks are going to just tear open from the strength of his big stupid smile. Stan’s smile is big and bright, practically twinkling with all those white teeth on display. 

Kenny steps right up into Stan’s face, laying a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He presses the cool bottle into Stan’s hands until he gets the hint and takes the bottle. The stunned, rosy look on Stan’s face makes Kenny want to eat him alive.

“Well,” Kenny says, still squarely injected into Stan’s personal bubble, “Make me a drink, bartender.” 

Stan blinks himself into reality as Kenny steps back and drops himself into one of the kitchen chairs. He plants his chin on his palm, elbow on the table just like his usual pose at The Holy Grail, and watches.

Stan comes back to himself looking indignant and shy. 

“That was a cheap shot. Maybe warn a guy.”

Kenny slaps the table impatiently. “Drinks!!” 

“Yeah, okay, okay. Hold your damn horses.” 

Stan eyeballs the pour, letting the dark liquor drip into the bubbly soda. One perfect shot. When he moves to pour Kenny’s drink, Kenny reaches a hand out and holds the bottle neck down with one finger. Stan’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t pull the bottle up. At least three shots fall into Kenny’s mug, nearly bringing the drink up to the chipped lip. 

“Fuck, Kenny. Isn’t that, I don’t know, a lot?”

Kenny takes his glass as Stan presses the cork firmly into the bottle. For some reason, the motion of his hands, all chords of muscles and blue veins, makes heat rise in Kenny’s stomach.

Stan does really just have some beautiful fucking hands. 

Not to mention the rare treat that is hearing a filthy word like _fuck_ come out of that pure mouth.

“Nah, it’s all a matter of tolerance. Jack and I have a long history.” 

He can practically feel Stan watch him lift the drink to his nose. When he glances up, Stan is busy looking all concerned. He doesn’t press further, though, lifting his own drink up to sniff at it. 

Kenny watches, eyes locked on Stan’s mouth, his face, his throat. He wants to see every little flicker of expression as Stan takes his very second drink of less than honest to God alcohol. 

Stan tilts his head back, taking a shallow drink. He watches Kenny the entire time with an almost accusatory look, probably preparing himself to tell Kenny off of it’s nasty. The expression has Kenny giggling and ugly snorting into his mug. 

Stan pulls the mug away, eyes closed. He lets out a huff of breath, just like he had with the mead, and shakes his head.

“Okay, woof.”

Kenny pats the table with his palm, leaning back in his seat.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking another swig. “What’cha think?” 

“I mean it’s..” Stan pauses for a moment, pushing off his little blue hat as he musses his hair. Fuck, what Kenny wouldn’t give to be the one running fingers through Stan’s hair. Stan shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“No shit, dude. Good or bad?” 

“Good, I think.” Stan reaches over, picking up the bottle and tilting it around in his hands, inspecting.

“Hey, let's try it without the coke, just the whiskey. I want to _actually_ taste it.”

Kenny’s grin splits his face, expression nothing but scheming.

“Sure thing, babe.” 

-

Stan likes Jack Daniels.

After his shot he asked for just the alcohol on the rocks, not interested in the sugary soda mixture.

Before Kenny realizes it, they’ve gone through nearly three fourths of the handle.

Conversation flows better than Kenny could have hoped for, just like their texts. He’d been worried that they would be awkward alone in person, too focused on Kenny’s obvious attraction and Stan’s obvious reluctance. But no, it’s easy. So, so easy.

They’re friends, after all.

And that reluctance seems to have just been in Kenny’s imagination.

The booze only helps to make them silly and loud, bantering like they were made to throw game at one another. 

At some point they started moving closer as well, if the short distance between Kenny’s knees and Stan’s tells him a damn thing. 

Another thing Kenny notices through his tipsy warm haze, is the way Stan keeps reaching out to touch him in small, almost innocent ways. Quick little moments of contact. A hand on his knee, one falling over his own, resting on the table. There and gone again.

Except for the heat of Stan’s knee resting against his. That one is a constant.

Kenny is going to lose his fucking mind like this. He wants to crawl over there and kiss Stan, taste the whiskey on his lips, the salty chips they’ve been sharing. He’s been wondering about how the muscle along Stan’s arms and thighs would feel under his hands for weeks. 

Maybe he can get Stan to use them on him. 

The tall handsome angel is just finishing a story about himself and Kyle growing up as angels, causing holy havoc on the citizens here, when Kenny breaks. He’s been watching Stan’s mouth make words and thinking about nothing but how many other things he could be doing to Stan’s mouth than listening to it. 

“Stan, hey? Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah. Of course dude, go for it.”

Kenny drums his fingers along the table, sipping the last of his soda. Here goes, he thinks. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Stan’s arm rests on the table, fingers loose around his mug. Good fucking thing too, because he probably would’ve dropped it on the floor otherwise. 

“Oh, uh, I mean, uh-“

“No pressure,” Kenny says, gesturing with his free hand. “Like, really. If you’re not into it, it’s cool.”

“No, dude, no, just uh, hold on a sec.”

Kenny’s heart hammers inside his chest as he watches Stan grab the edges of his chair and hop closer, bringing Kenny’s knees tight between Stan’s now spread ones. _God help me_ he thinks, and has to stifle a laugh at the irony of it.

“Okay,” Stan says, licking his lips. “Alright, lets try it.” 

He’s so fucking _pretty_ with his black hair and sad blue eyes, cheeks gone all pink from the whiskey Kenny brought him. Stan Marsh is the embodiment of a fucking Lana Del Rey song minus the cocaine and the thought almost makes Kenny break the moment with stupid, awkward laughter, but he manages to keep his cool.

Stan is handsome when he’s all flustered. It’s intoxicating in its own right, Kenny muses, having such an effect on a Heavenly creature like this. Dirtying him. 

Oh, but if only.

“You’re sure?” Kent whispers, leaning in close, one hand falling to Stan’s knee. His eyelids dip low, sultry above what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Can’t take this back.” 

Stan nods his head, ears going red. 

“Dude, it’s cool. I’m cool. It’s not like I haven’t kissed people before.”

Kenny giggles, because Stan is just really cute like this, nervous and drunk and excited. Kenny closes the distance, sliding his hand up Stan’s thigh. For balance. 

“Sure you have, but they weren’t me.”

It’s a soft kiss, chaste. Something Kenny isn’t used to, something shy and out of character for him. 

Stan reciprocates beautifully, tilting his mouth and cupping Kenny’s jaw in his palm, fingertips along his neck. He wonders if Stan can feel the blood rushing there, thin and all too fast.

What really surprises Kenny, is the moment Stan pushes forward with some real fucking purpose. He grunts, but lets Stan press him back into his seat. 

It’s delightfully messy in that way only liquor can facilitate without straying away from a sweetheart first kiss. 

When they finally pull apart, breathless and smiling like idiots, Kenny decides he’s got another idea. 

“Hey,” he mutters, his lips still brushing against Stan’s. “Can I do something? Like, something I’ve been wanting to do for like, ever?”

“Sure,” Stan laughs, shaking his head. “I guess so? This turned out pretty nice, so why not.”

Kenny presses one more kiss to Stan’s lips before scooting his own chair back. He stands, swaying slightly and giggling as he steps around Stan. He places either hand on the backrest of Stan’s chair, leaning over to speak directly into his ear.

“Sit pretty, hun.” 

For his part, Stan shivers, shoulders tensing as Kenny’s breath tickles some very sensitive skin.

It takes a lot more strength than he thought to pull Stan’s chair out from under the table with the guy still in it, but Kenny manages to drag him back a few feet. Just enough room for him to circle around and straddle Stan’s legs, ass flat against those glorious thighs.

Stan’s jaw goes tight, hands hovering for just a single solitary moment of hesitation before they lay softly down on Kenny’s thighs. _Yes,_ he thinks, _he’s for it. He’s totally for it._

“Oh.” Stan swallows, looking all over Kenny’s face which is wow, really close to his suddenly. 

“Sure, okay, yeah dude.” He’s got a little crooked smile on his face, all tipsy and cute. “I’m for this.” 

He’s laughing, so Kenny’s laughing. They giggle drunkenly into one another’s space, Kenny’s forehead resting against Stan’s. To be honest, neither of them are exactly drunk, but tipsy is as good a mindset as ever for some face sucking. 

Kenny has his immunity to alcohol. Stan is an angel and isn’t under the same laws of influence humans are apparently. 

If he tried hard enough, Kenny could probably talk himself into feeling guilty about it, but he isn’t about to crawl down that dark little hole tonight.

Stan could break him in half if he didn’t want any of this. Not like Kenny wouldn’t let Stan break him in god only knows how many kind of ways. 

Kenny starts to kick his feet where they dangle, shoes brushing across the clean linoleum. He gathers Stan’s hands up in his own, which would be totally cute if not for the sole fact that Kenny is holding them over the semi he’s currently got hidden beneath his straining blue jeans. 

Apparently just kissing and being real god damn close is enough to get him going when it comes to Stan. 

His hands are bigger than Kenny’s, but not any wider, something Kenny finds oddly charming. Like most of what makes up Stan Marsh, really. 

“Kenny, I uh..” Stan starts, but trails off, giggles petering away as he speaks.

His voice carries that kind of worried tone that has Kenny leaning back, unsure.

“What’s up dude? Something wrong, need to stop?”

“No, no,” he answers, shaking his head softly. “That’s _definitely_ not it. I uh, I gotta tell you something.” 

Kenny squints.

“Stan Marsh, is that _guilt_ I hear?”

Stan’s face goes pink all over, bright and blotchy up to his ears. Kenny throws his head back, laughing like a hyena, squeaking and snorting. 

“It’s not that funny dude, seriously let me say something!!” Stan bounces Kenny on the tops of his thighs with one good stomp. The two of them share a moment of panic when Kenny leans dangerously over to one side, hands snapping to one another's forearms for support. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. What troubles you, my child?”

“First of all, ew. Second of all I, well..” The hands on Kenny’s arms slide back down to his hands to lace their fingers together in what feels to Kenny’s tipsy brain as a thoughtful gesture.

Stan’s eyes squint shut, resolve bubbling over.

Ruh-roh.

“I didn’t get the booze back!” He blurts, looking somewhere over Kenny’s shoulder. “I totally asked Kyle to get it from Craig, and Craig, _that fucking asshole_ , made me ask him directly because he runs the stupid contraband thing around here and I’ll never fuckig live this down, but I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Kenny tries to take this confession seriously, because Stan deserves that.

He really, really.

_Really_ tries.

But the trying lasts about half a second before he bursts into laughter, leaning forward to press his forehead into Stan's shoulder instead of hee-hawing into the guy’s face. 

He can feel the heavy sigh roll out of Stan like the damn tide.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re getting a good kick out of my misery.”

Kenny indeed kicks his feet, bouncing twice on Stan’s thighs as he giggles like an idiot.

“I am, man,” he chuckles, dipping in to kiss Stan’s red cheek. “I really fucking am. You’re so cute dude.”

“Ugh, really? Cute?”

“Way cute. Super cute.”

“Stop, please.”

He can’t, and he wont. And well, Kenny definitely can’t stop his eyebrows from jumping up and down, that’s for fucking sure. This is too good an opportunity.

“Make me,” he says, amazed that the words could even make sense with how hard he’s grinning. 

Stan’s nostrils flare on a deep breath, hands falling to curve gently around Kenny’s thighs. 

Kenny feels caught, weighted down. 

He feels as at home as he thinks he ever has. As he ever will, probably.

Stan kisses him again.

And it’s fucking rocket science.

Kenny’s hands find their way up to Stan’s biceps, his neck, his hair. Anything he can paw at or hold onto while they kiss themselves stupid. Kenny arches forward, inching closer and closer until his hips are nearly pressed against Stan’s torso. For his part, Stan slides his hands up and down Kenny’s thighs until he builds up enough confidence to slip them underneath the loose hem of Kenny’s shirt, tracing the muscle of his hips and stomach. 

Their hands wander freely, hunting out whatever little ticks they can discover. 

Kenny bites softly on Stan’s lower lip, entranced at how it makes his muscles jump and a small groan rattle up his throat.

Stan retaliates by scraping his nails down Kenny’s ribs. 

He shivers, groaning against Stan’s mouth. 

Stan’s _smiling_ mouth.

“You asshole.”

Stan beams. “Like that?”

Kenny answers by slipping his tongue into Stan’s mouth.

The hands on his waist tighten like a vice, fingers digging into Kenny’s skin with enough force to bruise him. Kenny locks his hands on either side of Stan’s hand and show’s the guy exactly what he’s learned over his not but extensive 25 human years.

It takes five minutes for them to stop for a break, panting and pulling at one another.

“Okay, okay,” Stan breathes, trying to steady himself and find his train of thought.

Kenny slides his hands down to Stan’s shoulders, leaning back to give them both some space.

“Yeah?” He laughs, pressing his hips down into Stan's, who nearly bucks up in response.

“OKAY, dude, we need to move. Like, anywhere but my kitchen.”

Kenny’s heart is going to fucking explode. Adrenaline pounds through him. Stan is hinting at something, and it’s pretty goddamn clear what.

“Stan Marsh, are you going to take me to bed?”

Somehow, Stan’s face gets just a teensy bit more red despite the proud smile he’s wearing.

“I guess I am, yeah.”

Kenny wraps his legs around Stan’s torso and grabs onto his shoulders tight.

“Take me, I’m yours.”

Stan barks out a laugh that’s hard not to join in on, before he makes good on his word. 

He rises from the chair like Kenny is made of nothing but tissue paper and toothpicks, and heads in the direction of his bedroom.

The night’s possibilities zoom through Kenny’s mind, all jumbled and hot. What if Stan wanted to fuck him tonight? What if they jerked each other off? Hell, he’d settle for mutual masturbation any-day! Maybe he could even give Stan a good ol’ BJ. The possibilities are NUMEROUS. 

Kenny makes himself busy by sucking on Stan’s neck during the short trip down the hall, leaving pretty red splotches in his wake. Stan stops in front of his bed to kiss Kenny, deep and hungry, building up the moment until they both inevitably pop!

“What do you want, Kenny?” Stan asks, confident with his hands on the wheel. 

“Well, if you’re asking,” He says, curling forward to lick the shell of Stan’s ear before whispering into it.

“I’d really like fore you to lay me down right there on your perfectly made bed and fuck me.”

It’s not that Stand’s grip tightens, it’s more that his entire body goes absolutely rigid. Kenny thinks he may have gone too far, may have taken this a little too quickly in his hazy rush to have Stan.

But Stan, again, proves him wrong.

“Yeah,” he says, before kissing Kenny one more time. 

“I can do that.”

Then he drops Kenny.

In the two seconds Kenny blinks, he wakes up.

The sheets at his back aren’t gentle and perfectly made. They don’t smell like Stan.

The sheets at his back are his own. 

Kenny looks down his body, and sure enough, he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He digs his hands into his hair and pulls, howling into the empty apartment.

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

**Author's Note:**

> ruh roh


End file.
